


Poking the Weasel

by ToukoTai



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Better Lifestyle choices, Breaking and Entering, Gen, They can't believe the Drifter really does Live Like That, stealth caring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToukoTai/pseuds/ToukoTai
Summary: The Drifter had fully settled into the City. For real. Now if someone would stop breaking onto his ship and leaving things, he'd be great.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Poking the Weasel

If asked later the Drifter will say he knew something was up the moment he set foot on his ship. In actuality he had no idea anything was different until he stood in front of his personal quarters. Statue still, ankle deep in the undisturbed snow built up, the Drifter stared with mounting horror at the storage container he’d retro-fitted into as secure a location as he could hope for. Instead of the open mouth of the container spilling light from lanterns and bare bulbs, a thick, heavy tapestry hung across the opening. Blocking the cold air of his ship from entering the container. His lights were still on and squinting just right, Drifter could see there was no one waiting for him inside the container.

The Drifter didn’t survive all those centuries by being careless though, with hand cannon drawn he turns back and does a thorough search of his ship. Whoever did this is long gone. His ghost reports that exactly none of his security measures have been tripped. No alarms set off, no footage of whoever had entered, nothing else on his ship has been touched. Dust is still settled in his true storage areas, none of his more... _interesting_ passengers have been disturbed. It truly looks like whoever snuck onto his ship, erasing all evidence of themselves did so just to hang a tapestry over his personal quarters.

He returns to the container, inside none of his workspace or sleeping arrangements have been touched either. The only thing that’s changed is the sudden appearance of the tapestry. Drifter stares long and hard at it, arms crossed over his chest. He’s gone over it with a fine toothed comb, there are no surveillance bugs, audio or visual, no trackers, nothing to it but what it is, a tapestry. It’s dark colored, a black background with simple designs in deep blues and bright emerald greens. When he fingers the material in his un-gloved hands he can tell it’s a hand made object. High end by a weaver who knew what they were doing. He squinted his eyes in thought, he’d be able to track down whoever did this by tracking down who made this. There can’t be that many tapestry makers in the city who did work like this by hand, they'd know which customer had bought it. An easy task.

(He refuses to admit that his personal quarter is warmer with the tapestry hanging over the entrance, but he rehangs the tapestry once his ghost has cleared it.)

The Drifter has never been more wrong.

There are a number of weavers in the city. All of them are various levels of good to amazing. Only a few of them do tapestries though.

“There hasn’t really been a need for them. Had a small resurgence in the heavier ones for winters at the farm but.” A weaver in the far district told him, shrugging. “Not like there was in the early city days. I get orders mainly for decorative pieces.” Fair enough, he shows her a picture of the tapestry. The other weavers he’s talked to have said more or less the same. This weaver though, her eyes widen when she sees the picture. Bingo, he thought. “Now where did you get that?” She breathed, looking up at him.

“A friend has it.” He lied easily. Couldn’t tell her how he really got it, after all. “Liked it so much I’m in the market for something similar.” The weaver shook her head.

“Then you’re out of luck, my friend.” She said. “My grandmother wove tapestries with that pattern, but she passed nearly fifty years ago now.” The Drifter kept a pleasant face despite the frustration.

“Not anything you could replicate?” He pressed a little. The weaver shook her head looking scandalized at the suggestion.

“Yes, but I wouldn’t. That’s my grandmother’s family pattern, it died with her. I have my own pattern. It would be the height of disrespect to replicate it without her blessing.”

So a dead end then. Guess he’ll go on high alert.

The next week passes without incident and slowly the Drifter relaxes. He passes the tapestry off in his head as one of his guardian fans trying to curry favor. Keeps a sharper eye on those who come into his alcove and those who work the gambit playlists a bit too hard. But no one comes forward to claim ownership of the tapestry and the Drifter is not about to sink his pride by _asking_ around. He still doesn’t have so much as an _inkling_ to who it could be when it happens again. This time it’s a serious enough infraction that Drifter calls in backup.

“You called me here to show me _your bed_ ?” If this wasn’t a serious breach of his security and therefore a _serious fucking matter_ the Drifter might have winced at the cold, dry tone. Shin folded his arms across his chest. As unimpressed as they came.

“That’s just it!” Drifter snapped, he gestured toward the monstrosity. “That ain’t my bed!”

“Who’d you steal it from?” Drifter threw his hands in the air. Honestly, he should be a lot more concerned about the fact he invited Shin fucking Malphor onto his ship, but he was getting _desperate_.

“ _No one!_ ” He spat, frustration boiling over. “It’s just _here!_ ” Shin cocked his head to the side, taking in the storage container. In the tapestry pulled and secured to one side to bare the contents. To the area where Drifter’s perfectly serviceable cot used to be. Now there’s an honest to Traveler slightly wider than the average cot sized twin bed. The kind that the Vanguard ordered by the thousands for their barracks. Big enough to fit even the largest exo titan comfortably and compact enough to fit into space that Drifter’s cot had formerly occupied. It had a standard vanguard ordered mattress and was made up with dark blue sheets, several pillows of various firmness and fluff and a large thick comforter, with the Vanguard symbol, of course. All things that any guardian or tower civilian could easily get their hands on without anyone noticing or caring.

“So you’re telling me, that someone skilled enough to break onto your ship without you noticing didn’t do anything except...leave you a new bed?” The Drifter felt a small bit of vindication that Shin sounded as confused as he was. “And extra sheets?” There were three neat packages of different twin sheet sets placed on the bed in a row.

“Yessss.” He hissed. Shin regarded the bed and flicked his eyes over to the Drifter.

“Wasn’t me.” Drifter strangled a scream in his throat.

“ _I_ _know_.” He bit out. “You don’t give a damn about your own self enough to care about _mine_.” Shin wrinkled his mouth, then shrugged in a ‘fair enough’ gesture. “I want to know if _you_ have any bright ideas about who could be doing this.” He gestured at the bed, the sheets, the tapestry. To his credit, Shin _did_ actually look like he was going through a mental list of all the guardians he knew. But just as quickly he shook his head. Drifter deflated. Honestly, he should have known better. Shin probably didn’t know that many guardians that _didn’t_ have homicide, deals with the Darkness or murder in their daily activities. None that wouldn’t shank Drifter rather then...improve his living conditions anyway.

“Well.” Shin’s mouth was doing a funny little twisting and his shoulders were shaking in a way that made Drifter strongly suspect the man was laughing at him. “I’m going to leave and pretend this never happened.”

Fair enough.

Drifter takes the entire bed apart, down to its screws. Once again he is stumped by the complete lack of any bugs or trackers. The bed is exactly what it appears to be. A bed. With sheets.

He tosses everything except the frame and the mattress, steals a sleeping bag from the Vanguard supply chain. Kicks the bed frame a bit to put some decent dents in it. If he ignores the fact that the metal is a bit too shiny and the mattress is too clean he can pretend that it never happened.

Three days later a brand new bed, frame, mattress, sheets, pillows, comforter and all, is back. This time with a hand drawn frown-y face sticky note, stuck to one of the spare sheet packages.

Drifter ran his hands through his short hair and mentally screamed.

The bed is bug and tracker free again.

He refuses to admit that the sheets are more comfortable then the sleeping bag.

  
  


All’s quiet for the next week or so, gambit and gambit prime proceed as usual. Nothing new or exciting turns up. Just as the Drifter’s hackles are starting to resettle he comes back to a fully cleaned and organized workbench. 

All his various tools have been cleaned, maintenanced and set into holders and cubbies built for them. His mix match collection of rickety card tables and work bench have been replaced with sturdy tables and drawers and cabinets. All neatly interlocking together to preserve the small space there is.

The weapon mods he’d been working on were stacked and sorted into appropriate piles. Crates of brand new Vanguard rations and fuel replaced the haphazard stacking he’d had before. His helmet trophies hung on the wall, dusted and shined. The pile of jade gambit tokens were confined to a clear lidded container. And snugly situated under the new work desk, cooling unit humming along, is a mini fridge, fully stocked with fresh produce. 

The Drifter surveyed this all with a feeling of deep unsettlement in his gut. His eye caught on something bright and cheerful. His hands tightened into fists.

To finish this look of cleanliness and organization off, whoever it was had hung a calendar on the container wall. In perfect line of vision if he was sitting at his workbench. It was the kind of mass produced thing you’d get from any of the convenience stores in the city, impossible to track down who had bought this specific one. And. It was a kitten calendar.

The Drifter shook his head slowly.

In a very brief moment of insanity, the Drifter almost, _almost_ , goes to Aunor. He got as far as entering the bazaar and seeing her talking to an exo titan before he realized what he was doing and stopped. In the bazaar Aunor gestured at the exo titan and he answered her back with a firm shake of the head. The conversation continued. 

Around the titan was a small gaggle of hunters. One in a bright pink cloak was texting away on a phone, completely ignoring the conversation. An exo hunter standing next to the titan turned, head casually tracking the path of a descending ship and started to walk away following the ship, but was brought up short when the titan, without breaking from the conversation with Aunor, snagged the back of the hunter’s collar. The hunter was pulled back to the titan’s side like a misbehaving puppy. The pink cloaked hunter patted his friend’s shoulder once the exo was back in place. The exo’s shoulders rose and fell in a sigh but they stayed where the titan put them.

Another hunter, a very small awoken female almost hidden in the shadow of the titan, turned and nailed the Drifter with glowing eyes from across the bazaar, like she knew he was there the entire time.

The Drifter sneered at her, turning abruptly to go back down the stairs to his vender space. He could never be a part of a fireteam like that. Far too stifling. He never got on well with guardians like the titan. The ones who thought they knew what was best even if they didn’t. Just like the asshole who kept messing with his stuff!

When he got back to the Derelict, he threw a temper tantrum in his quarters. Overturning his work bench, the carefully labeled and stored tools falling to the ground, some skittering under his bed. He threw the container of jade tokens against a wall, the lid popped off and the tokens fell in a glittering shower over the floor. They crunched under his boots as he paced like a caged lion. He kicked the bed frame, ripped the mini fridge from the extension cord and tossed it out into a snowbank. The stacked crates of rations and fuel followed the mini fridge. He took his dagger to the pillows and mattress until he was surrounded by spilled foam and feathers. As a last Fuck You to whoever was doing this, he yanked the kitten calendar off the wall and lit it on fire with a small flicker of Solar energy. Watching with dark angry eyes as the calendar curled to ash. Until it was just him standing alone in the ruins of the shipping container.

Let’s see whoever it was fix _this_ mess.

(He left the tapestry alone and refused to examine why.)

He officially gave up when he returned a few days later to everything he’d trashed either back where it belonged, or replaced and a framed picture on the wall next to the hanging helmets of the Fallen Captain and Centurion. It was of a small grey striped kitten holding onto a length of rope with a clearly photo shopped blue sky background. In white text under the kitten were the words _Hang in There Baby!_ Cheerful and relentlessly positive. 

The Drifter rubbed his face with both hands and groaned.

This was just his life now.

A month later Shin Malphor shows up at his vendor space.

Drifter looks him up and down. The man’s armor is cleaner than it’s ever been. The rips and tears of wear and battle in his cloak have been mended, the damn thing even looks like it was washed. There’s a new hand cannon in his holster, not any make that Drifter recognizes from where he’s standing. Looks like a good piece though.

Shin himself looks vaguely confused, he blinks a few times, rubs a hand over his mouth like he’s unsure how to say what he wants to. Drifter recognizes this look, he had it himself back when he found a tapestry hung over the mouth of his quarters.

“They get you too?” He asks, even though he already knows the answer.

Shin nods slowly.

“I.” He starts, stops, starts again. “I don’t understand.” Drifter nods in sympathy.

“You get a calendar yet?” Shin has a bit of a wild look around his eyes.

“Puppies.” He says in confirmation.

“Mine’s kittens.” Drifter offers, unsure why. “Bit of advice? Just. Just let it happen. They’ll leave you alone faster.”

**Author's Note:**

> The exo titan and his hunters are OC's me and two friends came up with.  
> Exo Titan: Currently referred to as Titan Dad. But answers to Dan, Roger, Dave and/or Mark.  
> Awoken hunter: Zarina  
> Exo Hunter: Ran  
> Human hunter: Hunter
> 
> And yes, they are the ones breaking onto the Derelict. They don't actually like the Drifter but they wouldn't wish his living arrangement on their worst enemy so they set out to change it. Shin's ghost sics them on Shin himself.


End file.
